The Inquisitor
by ScientistSalarian
Summary: A simple grunt of the Imperium come face to face with one of the Emperors chosen few.


Smoked rolled over the trenchline as Trooper Sampson of the 51st Cadian Shock Trooper regiment, huffed into his hands as he patrolled outside the command dugout for the umpteenth time. He slung his lasgun over his shoulder as he tried to light an iho stick with numb fingers.

"You can smell it, can't you?"

The voice was deep and quiet, and sounded from right behind Sampson. He spun around to find himself face-to-chest with a large golden 'I'.

Fear knotted in Sampson's stomach. _The Inquisition_. The unlit iho stick fell from his quivering lips as he dropped to one knee, head reverently drooped. "My apologies Lord, I did not notice your coming".

The voice came again, this time from above. "I am no lord Trooper; you have no reason to kneel to me. Stand, and talk with me. Inquisitor or sir will do". Sampson swallowed but stood, finally taking in the source of the voice, and of the fear.

The Inquisitor was huge, as Sampson had glimpsed before. The Trooper was not a small man, but he only came up to the Inquisitor's chest. He was dressed in a dark crimson suit of archaic, almost medieval styled plate-carapace armour, with a scarlet cape draped over his shoulders. Pinned at the front with the golden 'I'. A helmet was under one of his bare arms, which were thick with muscle and scar covered, with studded leather bracers on the forearms.

His face was equally strong. He had a jaw line that could break rocks, and mild, light blue eyes that were almost friendly. He was mostly bald; save the snow white mohawk that lined the top of his skull. There was a single scar on his face, a thin line that ran from his left nostril, down across his mouth to end just above his chin.

There was the bulge of a rifle stock under his cape, and a sword sheath and bolt pistol holster hung at his belt. In every sense of the phrase, this man truly was the Wrath of the Emperor.

The man interrupted Sampson's thoughts by continuing to talk. "You have not answered my question Trooper, can you smell it?"

"Smell what sir?"

"Chaos"

Nausea twisted in Sampson's stomach. He winced and made the sign of the eagle over his chest, the Inquisitor nodded approvingly.

"The corruption and filth of their dark gods try to poison us even when they are not even in sight". The Inquisitor sniffed again, then spat into the mud-floor of the trench.

Sampson tentatively spoke up "Is there anything we can do to stop the poison of..." He caught himself, unwilling to spout heresy, the Inquisitor got the idea.

"Keep your faith in the Emperor and prey, he will protect you".

Sampson smiled and nodded, no problem there. His father had been a priest of the Ecclesiarchy, he knew all the Litanies of Faith, and could recall almost every sermon his father had given in the chapel.

Just then, from across the mist, came a deafening roar of bestial cries and shouts. Speakers nailed along the trench wall started to wail. Guardsman funnelled out of dugouts to man the walls. They lined up, lasguns in hand, as heavy weapon teams readied autocannons and heavy stubbers.

Sampson fumbled with his rifle, it have a short whine as the power cells powered up as he took his place on the wall. He was amazed to see the engraved barrel of a pump-action shotgun slam into the mud next to him. He followed the swirls and prayers etched into metal, to find the Inquisitor at the other end.

He had his helmet on at this point, the eye pieces glowing yellow. The helmet was pointed at the end, like the holy eagle of the Imperium's proud military. His deep voice, so quiet and melancholy before, was now full of hard confidence. Boosted my microphones in the helmet, it now soared along the lines of soldiers, tensed for the upcoming fight.

"Brave soldiers of the Imperium! The foul spawn of chaos comes to kill our families, destroy our homes! Keep your heart pure and the Emperor will guide your aim! Kill them! Kill them all!"

A resounding cheer came from all around, which was quickly drowned out from across no-mans land. Through the smoke... things came. Some walked, others limped, some ran on all fours like a beast. Most though, sprinted for all they were worth.

They were dressed in rags mostly, the remains of an engineers jumpsuit, the blood soaked robes of an Administratum clerk. All were twisted and mutated, their flesh disfigured like clay models that got wet. They carried rusty handguns and wicked knives, looted from previous battles. The cultists charged across the no-mans land hell-bent on blood. The inquisitor yelled words of encouragement, as did the squad sergeants and commissars spread through the ranks.

Sweat dripped off of Sampson's nose as he waited for the signal to fire. He could see the enemy clearly now, sigils etched into flesh made his eyes hurt when he looked at them. Then suddenly, along the line came a single word.

"Fire!"

Then all hell broke loose.

The beasts fell in their hundreds, the heavy weapons cutting huge swathes out of their lines, but nothing deterred them, they kept on coming.

One cultist managed to almost reached the lines where Sampson stood, he had an ice knife in one hand, the other so horribly mutated it was a lump of flesh at the end of his arm. Sampson switched to full-auto, and sprayed the cultist with las-bolts. The cultist screamed as it's was cut apart by focused light, it collapsed stinking of burnt flesh.

The snap and crackle of las-fire almost deafened him, but the sharp bark of the Inquisitor's shotgun could never be drowned out. He took massive chunks of flesh out of the chests of cultists, and exploded heads and limbs with every shot.

After what seemed like hours, the mass of bodies faltered, then stopped altogether. The Imperial guns went quiet. Sampson, relief flowing through him, mopped his brow of sweat and stepped back, almost tripping on spent power packs and shotgun shells.

He looked to the Inquisitor, who was staring across the mass of twisted and pulverised corpses, to where they knew the enemy lay in wait. Sampson smiled, still running on adrenaline, and clapped him on the shoulder. It was like slapping a brick wall. "We did it sir! We one!"

The Inquisitor turned slowly, and murmured "No, not yet...now comes the hard part" One again his voice echoed through the trench.

"You have repulsed the enemy, but now you must drive them back! Fix bayonets! We must hit the scum whilst they recover from the failed attack! For the emperor!"

A cheer went up, bayonets were fixed, climbing ladder raised. The Inquisitor dumped his shotgun on the floor and pullout his power sword and bolt pistol. He thumbed the stud on the hilt and the blade was enclosed in a blue glow as it powered up.

With a resounding shout, the Guardsman climbed out of the trench and ran towards the enemy. The troopers were forced to clamber over the mangled bodies of cultists, finding them even more revolting up close.

As the enemy trench came into the view, the Guardsmen yelled again, waiting for the gunfire. With whoops and gibbers, he cultists counter-charged the advancing, both lines roared as the clash of metal rang out in a bloody combat.

Sampson rammed his bayonet into a cultist's stomach, and was disgusted when black ichor spurted out. He quickly withdrew and sliced the creature's throat open, downing him. The fighting was fairly even, the Guardsmen had reach with bayoneted lasguns, but the cultists had animalistic ferocity, and seemed unaffected by most injuries.

It was even, apart from where the Inquisitor was fighting. He sliced a cultist in half with his sword, then blew another's head off with his pistol. A creature, who had lost his legs was crawling towards him, and was kicked away like a deflated football.

Slowly but surely, the Guardsman pushed the creatures back. They were cut down or shot at point blank, till only the Inquisitor had a victim left.

He was obviously the leader, dressed in ragged, patchworks robes. He had a mask of human skin that hid his beastly features. The Inquisitor had had someone fetch his shotgun, and was calmly reloading it.

He pumped it and pointed the barrel at the Cultist. He spoke in a calm, emotionless tome. "Prisoner, you have been suspected and found guilty of heresy, the punishment is immediate execution...any last words?"

The Cultist's voice was raspy and thin, he cackled cruelly, then said "Who are you? I would like to know the Imperial puppet that ends me".

The Inquisitor removed his helmet, and the Cultist took off his mask, they stared at each other for a long time, blue eyes on purple. Without lifting his gaze, the Inquisitor said:

"My name is Raphael Concuerda, I am an Inquisitor of the Ordo Herecicus, I hunt for the taint of Chaos across the galaxy, taint like you. I am the first and last defence for mankind. And I am your end".

Sampson swore he saw the Cultist smiled as the shotgun flashed.


End file.
